


The Flowers of Autumn

by Sleepless_Malice



Series: The Things Charkov Reads at Night [2]
Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Pining, Porn with Feelings, References to Chemistry - Actual Chemistry, Science, Valoris
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-24 19:14:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19179667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/pseuds/Sleepless_Malice
Summary: Valery and Boris have yet another nightly conversation in which Valery admits his feelings in chemical equations.





	The Flowers of Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> This work is about the characters of the HBO show, just to avoid any possible confusion. And yes, it's Valoris.
> 
> If that ship isn't your cup of tea (which is fine) I am fairly certain that there's something more to your liking among the other 4 million works AO3 currently hosts. I'm sure your browser has a return button just like mine. That's cool, too.
> 
> What's not cool though is to harras people for the ships they ship.  
> Yes, I have seen this and here are my 2 cents on this topic: If this show has taught us anything it's that lives are a fleeting affair and can end any day. I highly advise spending the days with something you love and enjoy, rather than actively clicking on a work for a pairing you apparently despise. So please, use your creative energy for a fandom/ship of your choice instead of writing angry comments/anon messages to fellow Valoris shippers, turn negativity into productivity. It's not hard, I promise. It's fun and quite satisfying :)
> 
> And everyone else: happy shipping & happy reading.

 

 

 _“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.”  
― _  _Carl Gustav Jung_

 

  **The Flowers of Autumn**

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Whenever Valery thinks Boris isn’t noticing he dares to snatch a glimpse of his friend’s face, his eyes lingering just a second too long, wandering along the wrinkles life has left behind. He studies the way Boris’ lips move when he speaks and at those rare occasions when he smiles; his eyebrows, but he especially loves to study his fingers. There’s nothing more calming than watching Boris write notes in the dead of the night, losing himself in the monotonous sound of the scratching pencil.

The nights are restless. Valery tosses from one side to the other in his bed, wrestles away the sheets only to retrieve them a couple of minutes later. Then, he gets up and lights a cigarette, sometimes smokes two before trying to go back to sleep. Most of the time he doesn’t succeed. It’s then when the images of Boris he’s been collecting come back to him and shame begins to burn brightly upon his face.

He shouldn’t –

And yet he does.

He must not –

It’s wrong. It’s inappropriate, dangerous and disastrous like the poisonous fumes emanating from the reactor; a threat to their growing friendship, perhaps even to his life.

Before his inner eye, Valery already sees himself boarding the train bound to Siberia. Back in Moscow, before the catastrophe had happened and with anyone else being the attention of his unnatural desires, he might have gotten away with yet another addition to his record. He’s quite certain that it isn’t empty. Most likely it is filled with some notes from the days when he was nothing else than an aspiring scientist, hardly in the focus of the KGB’s attention.

 _‘I am a career party man.’_  The words echo in Valery’s mind, disrupting the tense silence there.

It’s not true. Boris is so much more than that.

If he reflects upon their first meetings they indeed have come far. They’d been cobbled together by fate under exceptional circumstances, so very unlike each other at first glance. In fact, they aren’t yet Valery is far too rational to let himself be fooled by any of it.

He knows what happens to those like him. Those who love either gender, or the wrong one; what happens to everyone who’s a great disappointment in the eyes of the government. There’s no kindness for them, no hope, especially not if an example can be set, taking advantage of a person’s popularity. Valery remembers the homosexual author’s Gennady Trifonov’s case well. The poor man was sentenced to four years of hard labor under Article 121 of the Soviet criminal code. The punishment perfectly reflects the thoughts of the majority of the common people; homosexuals are the most hated group in the Soviet Union.

 

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Valery has fought and lost.

Not that he has given up the fight now, he still fights against the thoughts filling his head in the dead of the night. Whenever he finds oblivion by the touch of his own hand to the image of his friend, release tastes like ash in his mouth and each stroke of his hand feels like a betrayal, each stifled moan like a curse. He’s vowed so many times into the silence that he’ll never do it again.

The day after such nights, he feels and probably also behaves awkwardly in Boris’ presence as if his nightly sins are written plainly written across his face. It’s complete nonsense, Valery knows that. Most likely Boris doesn’t even suspect anything at all but for once, rational doesn’t win.

As long as their conversations are solely focused on work, Valery isn’t any different around Boris, with his mind being too occupied to get distracted by shame and guilt. Everything else is a different matter entirely, especially when they are alone. They share lunch together as well as dinner, and over the course of time, Boris has established to prolong dinner with a couple of drinks.

He’s never been good at socializing, having been a loner all his life. In academia, he’s in good company since most of the professors are lone wolves by nature; the competition, encouraged by the government does the rest. In the beginning, Valery had felt very conflicted.

Valery feels conflicted. He enjoys Boris’ company, the way he speaks and the way he laughs; to witness when he’s truly himself and not the man of the party has formed. There’s one face of Boris for all the world to see. And there’s this – the smile of Boris’ mouth, his eyes, of which Valery likes to imagine is elusively meant for him.

 

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

“What a strange pair we make,” Boris says, shaking his head in amusement. “Under different circumstances, we would not even have shared a single word with each other.”

Valery drowns his glass. “We wouldn’t even have met.”

 _‘And that would be a pity.’_ he adds to himself.

The worlds they live in only rarely collide, so in fact, Valery can call himself lucky.

Boris refills his glass, then reaches across the table in an attempt to refill Valery’s. Three glasses of vodka are already one too much so he covers his glass immediately with his hand before it’s too late. He’s never been one for excessive drinking.

“Now, come on,” Boris laughs, nudging Valery’s hand gently away. He’s tempted to snatch his hand away but that would only raise suspicion so he refrains. It’s the first time they touch that isn’t completely accidental. Even if it’s just for the briefest of moments it’s enough to elicit a shiver, crawling up Valery’s spine.

“See. That wasn’t hard, was it?” Boris says, pouring until liquid spills onto the table.

Valery shakes his head, trying to conceal whatever emotion his face is about to show. If he speaks every word would betray how he truly feels, what effect such small things have on him so he remains silent, hoping he’d get away with it.

And so it always goes, evening after evening, hour after hour until at last Valery is left alone with his wretched thoughts.

 

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

Three glasses of vodka have turned to five. That’s the number of drinks Valery has learned to drown in Boris’ company without being affected by it at all.

“You’re a bad influence,” Valery says with a laugh, pointing towards the almost empty bottle on the table between them. The eighth refill sits in front of him and Boris’ tie has fallen ago. The way, Boris opens the knot of his tie is something that never fails to make Valery’s heart flutter. He likes him like that: sleeves rolled up, shirt unbuttoned.

Boris raises one eyebrow and shoots him a smile. “Am I?”

Valery’s throat goes dry. The cadence of Boris’ voice has changed; it’s soft, edging dangerously close to playfulness now. Valery feels his heart speeding up; feels himself blinking and he’s sure his reaction it’s not lost on his friend. He hates being an open book to read and challenge his eyelids to stop, with the effect that he blinks all the harder. He doesn’t understand the sudden change, not the words Boris has said, nor his smile. Most often, Valery’s not even able to read the most obvious language of the body but right now, he can’t be mistaken, can he? Had more subtle signs of flirtation been there all the while, he wonders then and immediately doubts it. But how can he be certain? It’s been so long ago, over twenty-five years in the past. After that, he has restrained his folly to protect his career, his life.

He drowns his drink and pours himself another one. Sometimes, and now again, Valery wishes people were like elements since their attraction to each other is straight-forward and so utterly predictable.

“Valery, Valery.” Boris shakes his head, watching Valery drink.

He is relieved that Boris doesn’t request an answer and dips back into his thoughts about elements.

Halides and alkali metals are the best examples of opposites attract; reactions between them are impossible to prevent. There are other elements, those in the middle of the periodic table that form bonds but not so readily and then there are the lone wolves of the periodic table: the noble gases, which are quite content with themselves. If he were an element, he would be one of those, Valery thinks. A loner, colorless and grey amongst those who shine and sparkle in the spotlight, hesitant and, well, unreactive.

But then, his statement is not even true for these elements, Valery has to admit. Under exceptional circumstances – heat, irradiation, electrical discharges – even noble gases react and the strangest relationships are formed. In the early 1960s, xenon difluoride was first synthesized in Western Germany with the help of electrical discharge. The two elements react and a bond is formed, but unprotected from the hostile environment their relationship is a fleeting affair. For a brief moment, Valery closes his eyes and allows the sweet lie to wash over him that even someone like him might find a partner again in the autumn of his life.

When he comes back to the present, he feels Boris gaze rest upon his face.

Boris’ smile is mild, his eyes alight with curiosity in a way that even Valery manages to recognize it for what it is. “Tell me.”

“I was –” Valery hesitates, trying to add some coherency to his thoughts, otherwise Boris wouldn’t understand the mess. A couple of weeks ago he would not even have considered sharing this, any of it with Boris. They are past this now but still, it requires effort to speak out loud. “I was comparing myself to an element of the periodic table, that is all. Xenon, one of the noble gases, if you must know. It’s content with itself, quite boring some may say.”

“Do  _you_  think it’s boring?”

Valery shakes his head. “No. It’s quite interesting.”

Boris takes a sip of vodka. “And I?”

 _Fluorine._ Valery can’t say it, not without being able to give a proper explanation immediately after. Or,  _Vanadium_ , named after the Norse goddess of beauty. He can’t say that either, actually even less.

“I’m not certain,” Valery carefully ventures, buying himself a bit more time to think about how he should proceed. “One of the halides perhaps? You enjoy being the focus of attention and many are willing to give that attention to you, I’ve seen it myself.”

He’s surprised that Boris doesn’t inquire further; he’s even more surprised when Boris retrieves a sheet of paper from the chair next to him and begins to draw. Valery straightens his back, leaning over the table to have a look what Boris writes. He can’t see, not until Boris pushes it towards him.

 _Do they react?_   Valery reads and his mouth falls open.

He looks at Boris, blinking, then down at the sheet of paper again, removing his glasses to rub the shock out of his eyes. Then he nods.  “Under exceptional circumstances, yes.” He says quietly, not daring to look Boris in the eye.

“How?” Boris asks.

The light is too glaring to be romantic; not that Valery is one to be overly romantic in the first place but he can’t deny that the conversation they are holding  _is_  romantic and flirtatious in the strangest of ways.

Valery doesn’t trust his voice, doesn’t trust the words that would tumble out of his mouth.

The chemical equation of said reaction is an easy one:

Xe + F2 --> XeF2, he writes onto the paper, then adds the Lewis structures of each molecule with all its valance electrons, drinking his vodka every now and then until the glass is empty. Drawing chemical structures has always helped Valery to calm his nerves down and not even now it fails him. Eyes still cast downwards, Valery hands Boris the sheet of paper back.

Boris takes his time to study the intricate drawings and encouraged by the silence, Valery dares to lift his gaze. “Beautiful,” Boris says the moment their eyes meet across the distance.

In response, Valery’s heartbeat speeds up. Boris doesn’t mean it. Can’t mean it. Yet the word still seems to float in the silence, hadn’t been the imagination of his mind. Too many thoughts rush through Valery’s mind at once. It’s an incoherent mess of what ifs and it’s unsurprising that Boris notices.

Boris refills the glasses again. “Here, drink.”

This time, Valery doesn’t refuse. He’s nervous, perhaps more than ever and yet the same time he feels bold and light-headed in a way he hasn’t felt years too long.

“You’re are married, but you never speak of your wife,” Valery states after a while and if asked later, he wouldn’t be able to tell where he had found the courage to ask what for so long has been on his mind. “Why?” 

When he realizes that indeed and finally he’s said it aloud it’s too late. Second after second trickles by and he wonders why Boris doesn't lash out at him, doesn’t say anything at all. Valery’s so occupied to control his reeling mind that he only notices that Boris has moved the moment he stands right next to him, not even an arm’s length away.

Valery forces to swallow down the lump in his throat upon the sudden closeness, then shifts in his seat, careful not to brush Boris’ legs with his knees and lifts his gaze in slow-motion. The sight is an intimidating one. Boris is towering over him, back straightened and shoulders squared yet Valery does not flinch.

“Why, you wonder?” Boris says, his voice not betraying any emotion at all. What remains silent in his words, becomes audible in the language of his body. He stretches his arm out and lays it on Valery’s shoulder, gently pressing down. Valery still does not flinch even if it requires much effort, especially as his body reacts to the touch. “It’s a simple answer, Valera. For the same reason as yourself. I married because it was expected of me and now, apart from the document, nothing else remains.”

 _Valera._ It’s been years when last somebody had called him this. He likes the way it falls from Boris’ lips and relishes the moment Boris’s hand wanders from his shoulder towards his collar-bone.

For a tremulous moment, there’s silence again.

“Your career,” Valery then says silently, a whisper almost. For himself, it isn’t exactly a lie, although it’s only one side of the coin. Where love had died over the course of time, respect still remained even if they live in separate cities for many years.

“Yes,” Boris affirms, sinking down on his knees before Valery.

Valery is shocked, and that’s perhaps an understatement. “Wh – what  ...” he stutters, surprised that he’s able to say anything at all. He doesn’t understand; doesn’t even wish to some extent, suddenly afraid that his dreams have escaped the dead of the night.

Boris index finger flies to Valery’s lips and his eyes scan the room, reminding Valery that each and every wall in the hotel are bugged and begins to speak, hands busy with  Valery’s belt. “At the age of thirteen, I began to shape my future and ever since that day I work hard for it. When I was younger, in my twenties, thirties, forties even more than now. Day and night, night and day. Weekends, holidays ... it all became a hazy blur. Even when I did not work in the actual sense of the word, I still did. Reading, writing, crumple and burn the draft only to start all over again, honing my skills until I was satisfied. In that, I haven’t changed,” Boris tells him with a desperate look in his eyes. Valery has no doubt that everything he says is true. He’s seen him working at the verge of exhaustion, not much unlike himself. He understands that all of it but the rest he doesn’t comprehend. Why is Boris telling him this, any of it whilst he’s unbuckling his belt, opening the buttons of his trousers –

Valery’s thoughts are interrupted the moment Boris’ hands are gone and he stands up. He gestures Valery to stay seated and to patiently wait in the exact same manner as one does with a well-trained dog. Then, Boris walks to the door, opening it.

“Good night, Valery,” Boris says, and for a second all of Valery’s hopes and dreams are crushed – until he begins to realize, understands the game Boris plays. It’s not one being played at his expanse. Boris has talked to drown out the clicking sound of Valery’s belt and the treacherous sound of the rustling of fabric; to ensure both their safety and it brings forth a warm and pleasant feeling. He closes the door audibly and opens it very careful again to fool the ever-listening ears. Then, Boris slips out of the room quietly. From the hallway, Valery hears the sound of another door, opening and closing, and as he does, excitement flares. The realization that he perhaps could – would – sends the butterflies caught in his stomach flying, a silly expression adorning his face when Boris returns.

Valery’s breath hitches when he sees the fire in Boris’ eyes, the way he looks down on him the brief moment before he sinks down on his knees again. It’s not right, Valery thinks; it should be the other way round as it had always been in his dreams. He wishes to tell Boris, but he cannot, mustn’t speak, and if he’s honest, perhaps does not even want to say a single word. What he sees robs him of his breath and goes right to his cock; this man, powerful as he is, kneeling on the worn out rug before him, looking up at him in the way he does.

A surge of contentment fills his heart as desire sets the world around them ablaze the moment Boris cups Valery’s erection through his underwear. By the way Boris does, by his glowing cheeks and his ragged breath, Valery could swear that his friend doesn’t feel so dissimilar and that alone is enough to chase away the last doubts he harbored.

His hips jerk upwards into Boris’ hand and Boris takes it as silent encouragement to let his fingers wander until they disappear in Valery’s briefs, the fabric of it already damp and warm. Despite not really wanting to Valery has to stifle a moan, the first of many. Boris strokes him, slow and yet with a certain urgency, and watches the way Valery’s eyes almost fall shut.

Even then, Valery knows he couldn’t last. Wouldn’t last. But the strokes of Boris’ bare hand against his cock is only the prelude as he’s soon about to find out. Boris gives Valery his most radiant smile, then simultaneously frees Valery’s cock and dips down his head until his parted lips brush against it.

Valery tenses, fighting against the undignified noise that’s about to fall from his mouth but otherwise relishes in the sensation Boris’ mouth around his cock brings him.

What they are doing is insane, not rational at all. It’s madness to get lost in such foolishness with ears listening all around them; it’s insane to risk the trust and friendship they have built throughout all the weeks for a nightly folly of the heart. But then, what does it truly matter when only god knows how long they’ll stay alive? Each day could be their last day as dangers lurked everywhere; they’ve seen various shades of death by now, have sentenced healthy men and women to an early grave.

Valery fights against these ugly thoughts with desperation. They had no place, not here, not now.

Whenever Valery had fantasized their positions are reversed. He’s no leader, he never was and never wanted it, whereas Boris seems to have adsorbed leadership with his milk. Simply speaking, he’s at a loss of what to do. He wishes to let his head fall back, wishes to close his eyes to let desire wash over him but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when Boris looks at him from under his lashes; not when he looks like that, lips moist and rosy, wrapped around him. It’s the most erotic sight he’s ever seen – not that he’s seen overly much.

He wants so badly to touch Boris’ face, let his fingers card through Boris’ hair just as Boris had always done in his dreams. Instead, he grabs a fistful of the fabric of his trousers, doesn’t dare to reach out, afraid of Boris’ react- rejection to such intimate touch.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that at first, Valery doesn’t even notice that Boris has stopped moving his head and when he does, he’s blushing. Boris has been telling him often he’s prone to overthink a good many things and from the look he’s giving him, Valery knows he’s telling him that yet again.

The apology Valery wants to give gets stuck in his throat when he feels Boris’ hand cover his own, threading their fingers together against Valery’s thighs. Only then Boris seals his lips around Valery’s cock again and resumes moving. At last, and ultimately urgency wins over rationality; still somewhat hesitant, Valery lifts the arm that is still free and brings it to Boris’ face. He feels his fingertips tremble against Boris’ cheek, then against his ear as his hand wanders higher. His touch is gentle, at least for a while, until Boris’ tongue lies flat against his cock and goes deep and deeper still, only to pull off entirely. Boris’ lips are red and swollen, with saliva gathering at the corner of his mouth, his perfect composure for once and for all gone.

He’s certain Boris holds back with what he does; is forced to by the invisible ears, avoiding the wet and sloppy sounds he’d make if he could. It doesn’t matter, not at all. It’s perfect as it is, surpassing Valery’s wildest imaginations. It’s too much, of everything and far more than Valery is able to bear. He tries to give Boris the warning that certainly is due; with his eyes at first then, as he’s not successful with his fingertips since he cannot speak but when Boris reacts it’s too late to prevent any of it. His body jerks and spasms, hips bucking against Boris’ face and all he can do is to bite down on his lower lip not cry out.

Boris stands and spits into a tissue, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. If Valery hadn’t just found release he’s quite certain he would climax just from that sight alone. Valery doesn’t know what the future will bring – for him, for them; doesn’t even know how tomorrow will end yet what he knows is that he won’t forget the sight ever, as long as he lives. A lump begins to form in his throat and melancholy wraps its wings around his trembling body as it often does of late.

Silence reigns when Valery, dazed and boneless, tries to regain his breath and to compose himself. He almost managed to shake off the post-orgasmic haze when Boris bends down again much to his surprise and removes his glasses, placing them on the table. Then, he cups Valery’s cheeks, looking him deeply in the eyes. Valery’s shocked when Boris leans in and lets his lips graze his own, his taste still lingering there. Fingers trail along his cheekbones and despite the warmth of the room, Valery shivers, reaching out to cup Boris’ face in return. The tentativeness of the kiss only lasts momentarily, until their lips crash together. It’s nothing about first times and the gentle exploration of desires; it speaks of a madman’s lust, fueled by mutual want bottled up for much too long. They burn for each other, existing as one if only for the moment alone and when they break their kiss they look at each other with wide eyes, breathing hard.

Valery stands up, only to be caught in a crushing embrace, with lips and tongues immediately moving against each other once again. When he reaches down between them he finds Boris hard. It takes some effort to open the belt and zipper single handed pressed flushed together like this but somehow he manages. There’s no time, no mood for slow explorations, for taking his time with every stroke and caress, there’s desperation and urgency in the way Valery slips his hand inside of Boris’ briefs, in the way Boris clings to Valery’s shoulder in response. They are still kissing and if not it’s only to draw in some air in between. Despite Valery’s missing glasses, he can still see some, enough to make out Boris’ glowing cheeks and ruffled hair, and damn there’s no other word for how he looks than wrecked.

Valery surrenders to the overwhelming sensation; finally and ultimately closing his eyes, fisting Boris’ erection in the same rhythm as Boris rolls his hips against his hand. It’s not long before until his friend’s body begins to shake and tremble like a leaf in the wind against Valery’s own. Soon after, Boris’ cock twitches and pulses in Valery’s hand uncontrolled and warm fluid trickles down Valery’s fingers. He doesn’t withdraw his hand immediately, not before he’s certain that Boris’ orgasm has ebbed and when he does he quickly wipes his fingers on his own shirt, then circles his arm around Boris’ waist.

They hold each other – or rather hold onto each other in a way that not even a sheet of paper fits between them for many moments, remembering the words they wish to say for another moment when they’ll be able to talk.

In Boris’ arms Valery feels defenseless.

In Boris’ arms, he feels alive.

And even if it’s only for a fleeting moment, Valery is certain that they’ll remain forever changed.

 

~ ~ 0 ~ ~

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ... and now, with this out of my head I can finally read all the fic there is for them \o/


End file.
